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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25190932">Love Like a Winter Soldier</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/humapuma/pseuds/humapuma'>humapuma</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beefy Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bruce Is a Good Bro, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Helen Cho - Freeform, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Not Canon Compliant, PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Reincarnated Steve Rogers (kind of), Sam is not Falcon, Soulmates, Steve Rogers died in 1945, Steve Rogers is Not Captain America, Tony is kind of a dick, Top Bucky Barnes, Violence, Wanda has no powers, bucky is an avenger, mild stalking, traumatized Bucky Barnes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:35:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,649</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25190932</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/humapuma/pseuds/humapuma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Steven Mayfield Rogers was born July 10th, 1990. His due date was supposed to be the 4th but he came late. He was actually grateful for that, though not because he hated fireworks or was un-American. He was glad because he looked remarkably like a famous guy who was born that day, about 72 years earlier. A guy who crashed a bomb ship into the ocean, sacrificing himself to save the world.<br/>Yeah. <i>That</i> Steve Rogers.</p><p>James Buchanan Barnes had been a son, a soldier, and a friend; he’d been brave, loyal, and kind – but that had been a lifetime ago. Now, he was just a voice inside the chaotic mind of a mass murderer, an assassin: HYDRA’s asset, The Winter Soldier.<br/>For years, he’d shouted and fought but, over time and much reprogramming, Barnes became a mere whisper. He continued to breathe knowledge to the Soldier, as if he could stop any of it from happening. As if he could keep him from squeezing the trigger, or slashing with his knife, or breaking bones.</p><p>This is a soulmate AU in which soulmates dream each other's memories and experiences.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>285</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Love Like a Winter Soldier</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi! Been a minute :) I've been writing this story for <i>years</i> and I'm so excited to finally get to share it with you all. The title is inspired by the AFI song, <i>Love Like Winter</i> and that's actually where the idea for this fic originally blossomed. I recommend giving it a listen if you've never heard it.</p><p>Some notes on this universe:<br/>Steve Rogers died in 1945 when he crashed into the ocean.<br/>Soulmates are very rare, bordering on mythical.<br/>Reincarnation is implied but not pivotal to the story. :)</p><p>I hope you enjoy it at least a little bit. TT-TT<br/>Thank you for reading. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steven Mayfield Rogers was born July 10th, 1990. His due date was supposed to be the 4th but he came late. He was actually grateful for that, though not because he hated fireworks or was <em>un-American</em>. He was glad because he looked remarkably like a famous guy who was born that day, about 72 years earlier. A guy who crashed a bomb ship into the ocean, sacrificing himself to save the world.</p><p> </p><p>Yeah. <em>That</em> Steve Rogers.</p><p> </p><p>His parents promised they didn’t name him that because of his birthday or even because he looked like him – which he did. The sickly one, at least. The skinny, lanky, pale, blond kid. The only real difference was that Steve’s eyes were olive green – an aspect that appeared striking against his nearly wan features.</p><p> </p><p>His mom and dad swore they named him for an Uncle who died in Vietnam. But that didn’t stop the ridicule he faced from others.</p><p> </p><p>So, Steve M. Rogers, born July 10th, 1990, worked hard to differentiate himself from the other Steve Rogers. He excelled in academia and graduated high school a year early. Not that the first Steve Rogers hadn’t been smart. He was. He was considered one of the greatest tacticians of the twentieth century. But this Steve Rogers wanted to separate himself as best he could. So, he didn’t fight back when the bullies came for him.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t <em>that</em> Steve Rogers.</p><p> </p><p>But he <em>did</em> get angry. Furious. Sometimes, he felt like his body might burn up from all the rage he felt. It wasn’t fair; it wasn’t right. He tried to make friends but was a shy kid, so he spent much of his time reading and drawing; hiding.</p><p> </p><p>He used to dream of falling in the snow.  He’d wake up freezing, weak, and sore – his left arm hurt especially. He could never understand it; he’d never been so high in the mountains or seen so much snow, but it was always the same. Falling from towering cliffs, hearing the echoes of screams that weren’t his.</p><p> </p><p>These dreams didn’t happen every night.</p><p> </p><p>Other nights, he dreamt of killing people. Faces he’d never seen before; cries of children; the coppery smell of blood. They became so vivid and violent, he became afraid to go to sleep. When he was fourteen, his mother sent him to a doctor, Helen Cho, and Steve described the dreams to her.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not that <em>I’m</em> killing them,” he explained. “More like, I’m the weapon someone uses. Like, if a gun had a conscience.”</p><p> </p><p>She listened as he spoke with an unreadable expression on her face. It was clear she was concerned for him. “I’m going to prescribe you some medication,” she said, tapping away on the keyboard of her computer. “It won’t make the dreams go away,” she explained. “But they’ll be… muted. You’ll still see these things but they will be harder to remember. Over time… they may stop completely.”</p><p> </p><p>“Where are they coming from?” He asked, desperation in his voice.</p><p> </p><p>She gave him a sympathetic look but said nothing. The pills made him nauseated and dizzy; he felt groggy every morning. Sometimes, he woke up feeling that he’d had electrodes burning into his head. He got mad about stupid things and lashed out… the rage he had felt for so long was suddenly uncontrollable. It only grew worse until, one night, he threw a glass at the wall, sending shards everywhere, making his mom scream.</p><p> </p><p>He told his doctor he wouldn’t take that medicine anymore. “I’d rather have the dreams.”</p><p> </p><p>For years, they continued. Every few weeks, or months, he had a horrible, violent dream that stuck with him. Other times, he dreamt he was falling. Sometimes, he caught sight of something bright blue as he fell, someone reaching for him.</p><p> </p><p>At age 17, he was accepted to Harvard. He had his BA in three years and was quickly accepted into a PhD program for astrophysics. People seemed to recognize, then, that this Steve Rogers was his own person – his own man.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>James Buchanan Barnes had been a son, a soldier, and a friend; he’d been brave, loyal, and kind – but that had been a lifetime ago. Now, he was just a voice inside the chaotic mind of a mass murderer, an assassin: HYDRA’s asset, The Winter Soldier.</p><p> </p><p>For years, he’d shouted and fought but, over time and much reprogramming, Barnes became a mere whisper. He continued to breathe knowledge to the Soldier, as if he could stop any of it from happening. As if he could keep him from squeezing the trigger, or slashing with his knife, or breaking bones.</p><p> </p><p>Each time he failed, the asset hoped that Barnes would disappear, finally… but he never did.</p><p> </p><p>The years went on that way; neither The Soldier nor Barnes could recall exactly how many times they’d been woken or how many missions they’d completed. Steadily, Barnes lost track of time; his voice became quieter still until, one day, it was gone.</p><p> </p><p>HYDRA hadn’t silenced him, the Asset knew – he’d simply stopped speaking. Something in The Soldier <em>yearned</em> to hear his voice again but he would never ask.</p><p> </p><p>In 2012, The Winter Soldier was awoken by Pierce, his handler, and sent to execute Nick Fury. Simple enough, he thought. But his target had security – an archer and a red headed woman the Asset… <em>knew</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She was good; he hadn’t expected it. When she gave him that half smile and faked a punch to his gut, he was surprised when he felt electrodes in the middle of his forehead. The Widow had always been exceptional.</p><p> </p><p>When he woke up, he was in a small room he didn’t recognize. <em>Captured</em>, Barnes said. <em>But they’re not the enemy</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up,” he said in his thick Russian accent. His tone was offhand as if Barnes were right next to him.</p><p> </p><p>He knew there were cameras and he was aware that he was being watched. Probably recorded too. They had taken him alive, well, <em>she </em>had. Natalia Alianova Romanova, the Black Widow. He had trained her in the Red Room.</p><p> </p><p>He remembered that all of a sudden.</p><p> </p><p><em>That’s good</em>, Barnes said. <em>It’s coming back</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He shook himself; he had been out of cryo for an indeterminate amount of time. That was why Barnes was so loud; not just a whisper anymore. The asset knew he would begin to decompensate soon and he wouldn’t be spared any further mercy by Romanova. They wanted to interrogate him but they would learn nothing.</p><p> </p><p><em>Because we don’t </em>know<em> anything</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up,” he said again, ignoring the way his voice slurred.</p><p> </p><p>“Who are you talking to?” A voice asked through some sort of intercom. The Widow. He didn’t answer; instead he sat on the floor against a wall and stared straight ahead. “James, you’re safe here.” He snorted, though he hadn’t meant to.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You know she’s right.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Shut <em>up</em>,” he growled.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You think Pierce wouldn’t just take you out back and shoot you if you go back a failure?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Отвяжись!” He shouted.</p><p> </p><p>Natalia did not attempt contact again – not for some time. He hadn’t even noticed that he hadn’t question it when she called him ‘James.’ They left him in the room alone and sent meals in through a slot under the door. By the third day, he was in a cold sweat, shivering, and was <em>sure</em> they had poisoned him.</p><p> </p><p><em>It’s the drugs</em>, Barnes said. <em>HYDRA kept you doped up. Our body is finally processing through them.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Barnes,” he growled and then vomited on the floor. He tried to keep his eyes open, to watch for an attack, but he couldn’t. He was so tired. It had been too long since he’d been in cryo and his body was shutting down.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>That’s just what they told you. Our metabolism is too fast and burns through the drugs in a matter of days.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Th-then why d-does it f-feel like we’re dying?” He whispered, curling into the fetal position on the cold, cement floor.</p><p> </p><p><em>Not to me,</em> Barnes said. <em>To me, it feels like we’re finally </em>waking up.</p><p> </p><p>He ground his teeth and tried to fend off another wave of nausea. His long hair was damp with sweat and he <em>ached</em> everywhere; his body was too hot but too cold to remove his tactical gear. When he couldn’t fight it anymore, he threw up again; the heaving was so painful, he heard blood rushing in his ears as he collapsed again.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Get some sleep. It will be better soon.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“How do you know?” He asked in a weak voice.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>This isn’t the first time we’ve done this.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Before The Soldier could even think about that, the room went dark.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When Steve turned 22, he stopped dreaming about falling or killing people. He was relieved at first. For about a week, he woke up feeling… disoriented. Afterward, he sat up in his bed, struck with what he could only describe as <em>grief</em>. Sometimes, he woke up crying and full of shame – but he couldn’t understand <em>why</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He returned to his doctor and demanded more information. Initially, she tried to dissuade him. “I can refer you to a therapist or a psychiatrist,” she offered.</p><p> </p><p>“No, you <em>know</em> something, Dr. Cho,” he accused. “What is it?”</p><p> </p><p>She sighed and walked around her desk to lock the office door. When she sat back down, she took a deep breath and brandished a worn pamphlet from her drawer. Across the front, it read <em>Soulmates: The Dangers of Connection without Affection</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He all but scoffed and tossed it back on her desk. “What the –” he began but she held her hands up, silencing him.</p><p> </p><p>“No one believes in it anymore,” she said, keeping her voice quiet and glancing at the door. “No one has admitted to having one for more than fifty years, Steve. There were…” she paused, swallowing, “<em>experiments</em> in the sixties. Awful things were done to people who had the… symptoms you’re experiencing.” He picked the pamphlet back up, shocked into utter silence. “If you pursue this,” she said, “not only could you be in danger from outside sources, but it sounds like your… soulmate is very dangerous.”</p><p> </p><p>He gulped. “You’re saying that my… <em>soulmate</em> is a serial killer?”</p><p> </p><p>She shrugged her shoulders, helplessly. “Steve, please,” she pleaded, “tell no one. One day, the dreams may just… <em>stop</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>The implication of <em>when your soulmate dies</em> was left unsaid.</p><p> </p><p>That night, he lay in bed staring at the pamphlet. A war raged within him – how could he simply <em>pretend</em> that he wasn’t experiencing these things? What would happen if someone found out? Dr. Cho’s warning echoed in his head.</p><p> </p><p><em>Tell no one</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He opened the first page and read a few lines that reviewed what it called ‘symptoms of the soulmate infection.’</p><p> </p>
<ol>
<li>Dreams of people and events you have not experienced</li>
</ol><p> </p><p><em>Check</em>, Steve thought.</p><p> </p>
<ol>
<li>Intense temperature changes</li>
</ol><p> </p><p><em>Check</em>, Steve thought again.</p><p> </p>
<ol>
<li>Severe mood swings not associated with a previously diagnosed mental illness.</li>
</ol><p> </p><p><em>Check again</em>, Steve sighed, flipping to the next section. It repeatedly referenced what it called ‘the connection without affection,’ as the pamphlet was titled. <em>Losing one’s identity to the bond</em>, it said, <em>free will stolen</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Steve was disgusted by what he’d read and turned over, yanking his bedside table drawer open and tossing the pamphlet inside. He frowned at his wall, hearing Dr. Cho’s voice in his head: “<em>There were experiments… awful things. No one has admitted to having a soulmate for fifty years</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>It hurt to imagine that his soulmate could die before they met, but it also terrified him that the person he was meant to be with was possibly a psychopath.</p><p> </p><p>Instead of deal with it, Steve focused on his studies. He was in his first year of his PhD and had to work harder than those around him to earn their respect. He was the youngest doctoral researcher in his program which he hadn’t minded at first. But, within a few months, it became clear that his age, as well as the fact that he looked like a Captain America wannabe made him a bit of an outcast.</p><p> </p><p>Luckily, he still had friends from undergrad and had met a few people in other programs, but Steve had never had a boyfriend or a girlfriend. He’d hooked up with a few people, but he’d never felt interested in anyone enough to try for more. He was small, but confident in his body and his mind. His friends had helped him feel more secure in himself and he was no longer afraid to talk to people he was attracted to.</p><p> </p><p>Over the course of his first two years in his PhD program, Steve began to dream again. Empty rooms, dark spaces, shadowed figures; every now and then, even fights. With each dramatic movement, he saw light glint off of his left side but he could never get a good look at anything.</p><p> </p><p>He hoped that his stress was overflowing into his dreams, conjuring up these images, but when he imagined that his soulmate <em>had</em> died, he felt a sharp pain deep in his chest.</p><p> </p><p>He took to painting the things he saw – what he remembered, anyway. He hoped that, once they were down in paint, he could figure out what the dreams were about. If not, at least he was painting again.</p><p> </p><p>Steve had painted off and on all his life. His dreams had often been the subject of his art before. Paintings of snow and cliffs, mostly. One time, he painted something more gruesome and his mother tried to make him see a therapist. He never painted those dreams again.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The Soldier was seated at a table, across from Natalia. He wasn’t sure how long he could remain upright. They hadn’t bound him and, though he knew that, normally, nothing was strong enough to restrain him, he was very weak. The archer, Clint Barton, was standing behind Natalia and his target, Nicholas J. Fury, was against the far wall.</p><p> </p><p>“Were you hearing voices in there?” Natalia asked, though she didn’t sound as though she cared.</p><p> </p><p>“Barnes,” he explained, his voice slurring. “He used to be quiet but no more.”</p><p> </p><p>“James Barnes?” She asked and he nodded, though the movements of his head made him feel dizzy. She gave him a pitying look and said, “<em>You</em> are James Barnes.”</p><p> </p><p>He shook his head, “No, I… he is in my head. Not me.”</p><p> </p><p>Natalia leaned over and pulled a file out of a bag; it was marked ‘Секретный,’ [confidential]. She opened it and turned it to face him; inside, there were photos of him. There were lists of targets that he had killed, specifications on his arm, and locations he had been placed in cryo. But the name on the report was <em>James Buchanan Barnes</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“I…” he began. He was shaking, again; suddenly nauseated, and weak. He whispered, “I am James Barnes?”</p><p> </p><p>Natalia gave him that half smile again and said, “You are.”</p><p> </p><p>The archer, Clint Barton, asked, “Why does he have that accent?”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha turned and gave him a look before answering, “They wiped him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wiped?” The target – no, <em>Fury</em> asked.</p><p> </p><p>She watched James’ face as she answered. “HYDRA put James into a…chair,” she said and James began to shiver <em>harder</em>. “They electrocuted his brain, scrambling his memories and thoughts. When he came to, being surrounded by people who spoke Russian, he relearned language.”</p><p> </p><p>He began quaking with fear as memories of the chair and the pain flared up. He tried to stand, to move away from them, but he had no strength anymore. He collapsed to the floor and crawled to the corner. He was vaguely aware when the doctors came to examine him but, otherwise, all he heard was a voice in his head.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Bucky, there are men laying down their lives.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Barnes?” He slurred, looking around as if the voice had ever come from outside of him.</p><p> </p><p>In his mind, a tall, blond man stood over him. <em>Bucky, it’s me, it’s Steve. I thought you were dead.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Bu…Bucky,” he breathed, seeing the same man, wearing a blue uniform.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Bucky! Hang on! Grab my hand! NO!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I-I…” he whispered, feeling a heavy fog begin to lift from his memories. “I’m… <em>Bucky</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>The name came to him so quickly, but not as easily as the other – <em>Steve</em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We remembered his name long after we forgot our own.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Bucky trembled as each word flowed into his mind. “Steve,” he breathed.</p><p> </p><p>He spent seven <em>agonizing </em>days going through withdrawals from the drugs HYDRA had kept him on. Without them and, without the cryogenic freezing, he began to <em>dream</em>.</p><p> </p><p>A small, blond boy, running from bullies; painting a large canvas with tears in his eyes and blood on his nose; taking pills that he knew would make him sick. The same boy, but older, staring at the stars with glee and fascination, setting up a telescope.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky felt like he knew this man, knew him deep down, but couldn’t find him in his memories.</p><p> </p><p>James-Bucky-Soldier’s super soldier body recuperated at an extraordinary rate; once the drugs were out of his system, he regained his strength in hours. The doctors were astounded. Natalia remained nearby for those first few weeks; she was always ready to step in if he became overwhelmed. He knew that The Widow was meant to protect the doctors, but she put her back to him when she sent them out. She trusted him.</p><p> </p><p>The Asset spent eight months in Stark Tower after he helped the Avengers stop Project Insight. During those months, Barnes’ thoughts became more cohesive with his own; the fissure was healing, though not fixed. He still didn’t trust himself, couldn’t trust that the thoughts in his head were his and not HYDRA’s.</p><p> </p><p>He dreamt every night – images of a thin, blond man who looked so like the blond man in the blue uniform, but he knew they weren’t the same person. Barnes never commented on these dreams and Bucky-Soldier wondered if they were locked away, only for his knowledge.</p><p> </p><p>When he was put in cryo, he hadn’t had dreams.</p><p> </p><p>“Probably because HYDRA’s fun little cryo process was meant to keep you sedated,” Tony Stark, the Iron Man, explained. “Compliant. One easy way to do that is to deny your body its natural REM cycle.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why?” Bucky questioned.</p><p> </p><p>“I imagine it was meant to keep you from dreaming about your life… before.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Before</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky slowly acclimated to having options and choices. Barnes remained, though sometimes Bucky-Soldier couldn’t tell their thoughts apart. Several more months past; he continued living in Stark Tower and offered his assistance on missions or in Stark’s lab. Once he felt secure that he was in control of himself, he asked to officially join the Avengers and they all easily agreed.</p><p> </p><p>He had been out of HYDRA’s control for nearly two years and the longer he was out of cryo, the more he dreamt. The more he dreamt, the more he remembered. One of the first unambiguous memories to return was Steve. For some reason, most of his memories of Steve Rogers were memories of Captain America. But he had a few small moments from <em>before </em>that he kept safe inside his mind. His shy smile; the crooked nose; the thin, bony fingers; the smell of paint. Memories of his life with Steve continued to surface; some more powerful than others.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Steve sitting on the ratty couch in their tiny apartment, sketching.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Steve tagging along on double dates with girls too stupid to see how great he was.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Sitting by Steve’s sickbed as he struggled to breathe with pneumonia.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hugging Steve before he shipped out.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He tried not to think too much about those moments. Steve was long dead and Bucky would never see his sketches or hear him wheeze; never hug him or save his ass in an alleyway, ever again.</p><p> </p><p>“Was he…our lover?”</p><p> </p><p><em>No</em>, Barnes said.</p><p> </p><p>“We loved him, though,” Bucky said.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>More than anything.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Did we ever tell him?”</p><p> </p><p><em>No</em>, Barnes answered. <em>Too late now.</em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Following his doctoral graduation at age 24, Steve was sent a beautiful fountain pen tucked inside an elegant black box. With it, came a plain, white card with a message.</p><p> </p><p>love is a place &amp; through this place</p><p>of love move</p><p>(with brightness of peace)</p><p>all places</p><p>yes is a world</p><p>&amp; in this world of</p><p>yes live</p><p>(skillfully curled)</p><p>all worlds.</p><p>-e.e. cummings</p><p> </p><p>Steve read the poem over and over, flattered but confused. The note was unsigned and typed, making it nearly impossible to ever learn who had sent it.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>One evening, Bucky was on his own, surveilling an old HYDRA safe-house when he saw a ghost.</p><p> </p><p><em>Him</em>.</p><p> </p><p>A small, thin, blond man with sharp cheekbones. His nose was crooked and it had obviously been broken more than once.</p><p> </p><p>“Steve,” he whispered.</p><p> </p><p>He knew it wasn’t right; couldn’t be real. Steve was dead, but Bucky’s feet moved without his permission. He followed behind, watching as people glanced Steve’s way or leered at him like a piece of meat. Bucky wanted to rip their eyes out, take their hands off for even <em>thinking</em> of touching Steve.</p><p> </p><p>But it wasn’t Steve.</p><p> </p><p>Steve’s hair hadn’t been styled that way. Steve was <em>big</em> and wore a bright blue uniform. Steve was dead.</p><p> </p><p>He’d followed the man for several weeks before he realized that he needed help. He showed Stark and Bruce a photo of the man, trying to keep his hands from shaking as he held the camera up.</p><p> </p><p>“No fuckin’ way,” Stark whispered.</p><p> </p><p>“He lives in Brooklyn,” Bucky said, handing Stark a slip of paper with the man’s address written on it.</p><p> </p><p>With that, Stark was off, accessing every bit of information he could. “His apartment is… <em>oh</em>,” he hesitated. “It’s registered to Steven Mayfield Rogers. <em>Jesus</em>.”</p><p> </p><p><em>It’s Steve. It’s him</em>, Barnes said.</p><p> </p><p>“We – <em>I</em> have to know,” Bucky whispered, turning to Stark. “Is he some clone? A weapon of HYDRA?”</p><p> </p><p>Stark shook his head. “I mean, if so, they did a damn good job. His mom’s name is Adele Margaret Rogers and his dad is Peter Bartholomew Rogers. I have a family tree going back –” he stopped. “Wow, going back a long time. He had an Uncle named Steve Rogers, too, but he’s not even a distant relative of Captain America, not that I’m seeing.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>No one gets a second chance like this.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“How is this possible?” Bruce asked, reading the screen through his glasses on the end of his nose.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know, but this kid is pretty smart,” Stark continued, sounding more than a little impressed. “He graduated a year early to go to Harvard and he’s almost got a PhD.” He whistled. “He graduates next month.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We should get him something. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Bucky had to regulate his breathing as he listened. “I – I would like to send him something.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>A present. Graduation present.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“A gift.”</p><p> </p><p>“Whoa,” Stark said, spinning around on his stool to face Bucky. “Do you think that’s a good idea? This kid isn’t Steve – I mean, he <em>is</em>, but he’s not <em>your</em> Steve.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know that,” Bucky argued.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you?” Bruce asked without any hesitation. “Because you followed him home, took these photos and brought them to us, and want to reach out to him – that all points to the contrary.” Bruce waited a few moments, letting his words to sink in. “You want to get to know this kid, great, but the moment you figure out he isn’t who you want him to be, what will you do? Drop him? That isn’t fair to him at all.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky clenched his jaw but did not respond. He knew they were right. But that didn’t stop him from sending a note and spending thousands of dollars on a pen for Steven Mayfield Rogers’ graduation. He watched from far away as Steve opened the gift. This man’s smile wasn’t the same as Steve’s had been; this smile was more confident.</p><p> </p><p>And his eyes were… different. Barnes noticed first, saying <em>Steve’s eyes weren’t green.</em></p><p> </p><p>“I don’t care,” Bucky said.</p><p> </p><p>He watched him read the card and then he left. He should have stayed away after that but he didn’t. Couldn’t. At first, Barnes tried to argue with him, saying over and over, <em>He’s not our Steve</em>. But Bucky didn’t care. Everything about Steve felt familiar and safe in a world where Bucky had forgotten what those things were, though he remained content to observe from a great distance.</p><p> </p><p>This meant, however, that he saw the other letters delivered; he saw Steve’s discomfort and then, later, his fear. He could no longer stand by when the deliveries continued after he moved for his work.</p><p> </p><p>He watched as Steve rushed to take medication after sending the florists away. He watched as he touched his throat and shivered, kneeling on the floor. Bucky watched with terror in his chest as Steve gasped at the content of one letter, then grabbed an inhaler to regulate his breathing.</p><p> </p><p>Steve was horrified when the cards kept coming, and Bucky became <em>vicious</em>. He felt the cold pull of the Soldier in his mind, preparing for violence. Bucky couldn’t simply watch anymore; he had to do something. The same drive that had sent him searching alleyways, running into battle, and soaring onto a train in the snow was awakened.</p><p> </p><p>When he returned to Stark again, he had a new mission: protect Steve Rogers.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky intercepted one of the deliveries and demanded information, but all they had was a phone number. For Stark, that was enough.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Within a few months of graduating, Steve had a job at the Astrophysical Observatory at CUNY College of Staten Island. They had sought him out and offered for him to teach. His sign-on bonus was enough to allow him to find a small apartment in Bay Ridge, which was across the bridge, in Brooklyn.</p><p> </p><p>Since graduating, he had received nearly a dozen secret admirer letters; sometimes they came with gifts. At first, he had enjoyed them but that feeling faded after the fourth one arrived. He’d hoped they would stop when he moved out of Bed-Stuy but he quickly learned that he was wrong. Barely a week after moving into his new apartment, another letter appeared.</p><p> </p><p>It scared him, truthfully, to know that he was being followed. But not enough to call the police.</p><p> </p><p>He decided to just ignore them. When a new one came, he would read it and toss it, hoping it would be the last. But it never was.</p><p> </p><p>The notes became more intense – kind of aggressive. The writer tried to set up meetings, sent gifts, but Steve refused them all. He was horribly allergic to most flowers and, when the deliveries arrived, he slammed the door and rushed to take medicine.</p><p> </p><p>Steve’s work hours were long, which suited him fine. He arrived on campus around 8:30 in the morning and stayed until around 9 or 10 at night. His evening classes were the most popular, but when he was not teaching, he worked on research projects in the library. He holed up in his apartment, otherwise, and always took busy streets home. He tried to keep himself from being alone too often.</p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t been <em>frightened</em> of the letters’ contents, at first. Confused and startled, yes, but not afraid.</p><p> </p><p>He was horrified when a letter arrived and the writer expressed interest his current research project. A project he was doing in secret. It frightened him so much, he had an asthma attack.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t even imagine who would send him letters like these. His flings over the years had never seemed to want more than he had. Despite his small stature and poor health, Steve was no virgin. But, since the letters had become more intrusive and bordered on threatening, Steve had changed. He had a few friends that he had confided in but hadn’t been with anyone in months.</p><p> </p><p>His friend, Sam, worked as a psychotherapist and he warned Steve that the stalker could be <em>anyone</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He explained, “Stalkers’ brains don’t differentiate between casual glances or polite smiles and romantic or sexual attraction. You may have held the door for someone, or smiled at a cashier and they believed that was the beginning of a relationship.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve shuddered to think of all of the time he’d simply acted out of politeness.</p><p> </p><p>“You need to go to the police,” Sam urged. “This will not stop.”</p><p> </p><p>He knew Sam was right, but he was afraid. One thing he kept to himself was that, in one letter, the writer had mentioned a friend of Steve’s that he had met for coffee. That letter had seemed frenzied – the change in structure and grammar, especially. It bled together into something terrifying, even angry.</p><p> </p><p>Steve stopped meeting his friends, except at work. He wanted to protect the people he cared about. As he was homebound much of the time, his apartment steadily filled with large canvases that he painted. Some were of the night sky, but most of them were from his dreams.</p><p> </p><p>He sat before his easel, staring at what looked like a body in motion, contemplating whether he should cook dinner. It was late, past midnight, but he had been so engrossed in what he was doing, he’d just forgotten. He jumped a little when he felt his phone vibrate and pulled it out of his pocket. When he saw the caller ID, he smiled.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Wanda,” he greeted.</p><p> </p><p>“Steve,” she said in her smooth accent. “Are you alright? I just – I was worried about you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine,” he answered, easily. “Why?”</p><p> </p><p>He loved Wanda – she was the closest thing to a sister he had. She was very protective of him, especially after her twin brother, Pietro, died. He was murdered in a shooting; Wanda had been in school when it happened. He never believed in that “twin connection” thing until he saw Wanda fall from her desk and begin weeping. Her mother called her moments later to tell her about Pietro, but Wanda already knew. When Steve asked how, – a long time later – she explained that she had felt a sharp pain in her chest and then, <em>nothing</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She had said, “<em>It felt like I died too.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>She was younger than Steve but took on a role more as an older sibling. She called Steve regularly to check in with him, and he was sure she would destroy the stalker if she ever discovered who he or she was. He believed she would do it. Sometimes, he wondered if she was psychic in some way. She always seemed to know when he was at his lowest and she’d reach out to him.</p><p> </p><p>“My gut told me to call you,” she said. “Did you get another letter today?”</p><p> </p><p>He frowned. “I haven’t checked my mail.”</p><p> </p><p>She was quiet for a moment before she said, “You should.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“<em>You still watching the kid</em>?” Stark’s voice came through Bucky’s earpiece.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” he said, though his mind was far away.</p><p> </p><p>He was monitoring Steve through the scope of his rifle. He hasn’t heard Steve’s voice yet, or his laugh; he hasn’t been close enough to know what Steve sounds like when he’s happy or sad, when he’s angry, or even when he’s angry.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky had considered attending one of Steve’s lectures but worried he’d stand out too much. He worried it would make Steve more of a target.</p><p> </p><p>“He is… painting.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Well, that’s weird. Didn’t your boyfriend paint, too</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky sighed in exasperation. “You have something for me?” His accent became thicker when he got frustrated.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Touchy</em>,” Stark jeered. “<em>But yeah, I do. That number you gave me, it’s registered to Jack Rollins. Remember that peach</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky growled, “Rumlow’s bitch.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Something like that</em>,” Stark chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>“This means HYDRA is involved.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>It seems that way</em>,” he replied. “<em>Means they want you to know, though; otherwise, they wouldn’t have used a name we already have. It takes work to be that stupid</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky couldn’t disagree. “They want the Winter Soldier,” he rasped.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Seems like they want Bucky Barnes, if they’re going after the reincarnation of your childhood boyfriend</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“He was not my boyfriend,” he said, though he felt more annoyed than angry.</p><p> </p><p>The jokes and implications about his relationship with Steve Rogers had been unending. Bucky had slowly remembered that he loved Steve but, in a time when even the suggestion that two men were lovers could be a death sentence, he had pushed it down. He had dated women and kept Steve at a distance, pretended to merely be his brother. But he remembered long nights spent imagining other things, and the bitter guilt that followed.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Sure, Robo-Cop</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky grumbled, “Fuck you, Stark.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>You know</em>,” Stark began, “<em>Seems like they know you found him. Maybe your, um, stalking isn’t actually making things better</em> –”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Tony, don’t</em>,” Bruce’s voice came over the earpiece.</p><p> </p><p>“I am <em>protecting</em> him,” Bucky argued. “I am only one who can.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Well, maybe the kid wouldn’t need your protection if</em> –”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Tony, stop</em> –” Bruce tried to interrupt.</p><p> </p><p>“– <em>you hadn’t been stalking him</em> –”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Tony, Jesus Christ</em> –”</p><p> </p><p>“– <em>like a lovesick schoolgirl</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Tony</em>!” Bruce shouted. “<em>You’re not helping</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky didn’t respond right away. He remained in his spot, concealed in a vacant apartment across the street, and watched Steve Rogers answer his phone. His smile quickly changed to a frown. After a few moments, he stood and went to his front door, and Bucky tensed. Steve didn’t go out anymore, not after he moved. Bucky knew that the stalker was purposely isolating Steve, cornering him. He was sure it was through Steve that they intended to get Bucky.</p><p> </p><p>It was a good strategy, using loved ones to expose a target. He would have done the same thing.</p><p> </p><p>“He is moving downstairs,” Bucky said as he exited the apartment through the window. He used the fire escape to scale the side of the building and get to the street. He was wearing dark clothes and a baseball cap but there was always a chance that he could be caught on security cameras or followed. He took a breath before coming out of the shadows. He knew there was a risk but he had to ensure that Steve hadn’t been lured out.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky looked both ways before he crossed the street, then stood before Steve’s apartment building. The exterior of the lobby was floor to ceiling windows and, while it provided no protection or privacy, it made it easier for Bucky. He considered trying to break in when the elevator door opened and –</p><p> </p><p>“Steve,” he whispered, shock evident in his voice. It was truly startling how like Bucky’s friend he looked, especially from this distance.</p><p> </p><p><em>It’s not him, though</em>, Barnes said.</p><p> </p><p>Steve saw Bucky on the sidewalk, then bowed his head and looked at his feet. Bucky growled at the thought that Steve was now forced to be afraid of everyone. Hadn’t he been fearless? A fighter?</p><p> </p><p>In the back of his mind, Barnes reminded him, <em>It’s not Steve</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Something in his voice made Bucky mad and he growled, “He does not <em>have</em> to be your Steve.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve walked to the opposite wall, where the mailboxes were. He continued to avert his eyes, though he was clearly aware of Bucky’s presence. It was obvious in his body language. There was a stranger outside, watching him.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky turned away but kept Steve in his periphery. He tried to appear innocuous and safe, though his long hair and dark clothes weren’t doing him any favors. Steve began to glance toward Bucky every few seconds as he hurried to unlock his mailbox. Once he turned the key, Bucky assumed Steve would rush back to the elevator with his mail, but he stopped and looked at the first letter.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh God,” Steve said and Bucky couldn’t hear it but read it right off of his lips. He let the rest of the mail fall to the floor. He opened the letter with shaking hands, looking as though he might begin to cry.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky wanted to run to his side and comfort him, but this wasn’t <em>his</em> Steve and he was a stranger. Steve covered his mouth with his hand as he read, clearly becoming more distressed by the second. He swallowed and looked up, meeting Bucky’s gaze, and then he rushed to pick up the mail off of the floor before running to press the button on the elevator.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky wanted to get inside but the lobby door was secured. He paced along the windows for a moment, keeping watch over Steve while he waited. He felt helpless and anxious – <em>What was in that letter?</em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Steve got to his apartment faster than ever before. Even though he had taken the elevator, his lungs were on fire and he had to use his rescue inhaler. He looked down at the letter still clutched in his hand and realized he was shaking. He ran to his living room and pulled the blinds down, shutting out the night.</p><p> </p><p><em>Sometimes I see you painting</em>, the letter read. He rushed to his bathroom and threw up; he hadn’t eaten so he simply dry heaved bile.</p><p> </p><p>He shook all over and sat down, leaning against his toilet. “I need help,” he whispered, as if someone might hear him and come smashing through his door on a white horse.</p><p> </p><p>He wondered, idly, if he should move to Hell’s Kitchen, so maybe the Devil might save him. He knew that he was delirious and irrational but had no idea what else he could do. He had become paranoid and vigilant, afraid of every stranger he passed.</p><p> </p><p>Except <em>him</em>.</p><p> </p><p>While he retrieved his mail, he’d seen the poor, homeless guy on the street and something felt… <em>familiar</em>. There was something in the guy’s face that Steve knew he’d seen before. But beyond that, Steve had felt <em>safe </em>with him there. The guy had been fairly clean-looking for a transient and Steve actually thought he was pretty attractive – what he could see, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>He’d been so startled when he saw him, then so frightened of the letter that he’d dropped the mail and run off like a spooked deer. He was embarrassed at his reaction to the whole thing and worried what the guy thought of him.</p><p> </p><p>Not that Steve would ever see him again.</p><p> </p><p>For a brief moment, Steve imagined that he <em>would</em> see him again. He fantasized that the homeless guy would be ex-Special Forces and would want to protect Steve from anything that could hurt him. But then he felt another wave of nausea overtake him. He wondered how he could be so selfish, to force someone else into this situation. What if the stalker was as crazy as Steve believed? Anyone he tried to get help from could die.</p><p> </p><p>He shook his head and remained on the floor for several more minutes, waiting for the nausea to fade. He finally stood up and brushed his teeth in slow, gentle movements, to avoid gagging himself. The words in the letter echoed in his mind and he moved throughout his apartment, ensuring that each window was locked and the blinds closed.</p><p> </p><p>By that time, it was nearly one in the morning, and he felt exhaustion creeping up on him. He went to his bedroom and lay down, pulling the blankets over himself. Sleep came on, slow and uneasy.</p><p> </p><p>When Steve opened his eyes, he felt horrible, almost like he was hungover. It was still dark out and he couldn’t imagine what had woken him. He covered his head with his pillow, but shot up in his bed, hearing footfalls outside his bedroom door.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Bucky watched Steve leave the bathroom and finish closing his blinds. He checked the lock on every window at least once, then began shutting lights out. Bucky had returned to the vacant apartment to keep watch but, with the blinds closed, he couldn’t see to maintain watch. He waited another hour before he descended the fire escape again and made his way to Steve’s building.</p><p> </p><p>The door remained tightly shut but he grabbed it with his left hand and yanked. The metal frame warped, allowing the door to open, and he headed to the stairwell. Steve’s apartment was on the fourth floor.</p><p> </p><p>The locks were garbage and he was almost ashamed that he’d been enslaved by an organization of operatives who couldn’t get through rudimentary deadbolts.</p><p> </p><p>He crept through the apartment, finding the bedroom easily, and sat on the floor in the hallway. He decided to keep watch from there, to ensure Steve’s privacy was maintained.</p><p> </p><p><em>He’s not our Steve</em>, Barnes said.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky shook his head and whispered, “Not <em>your</em> Steve, you mean.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Not yours either.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Bucky nodded, “No.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Then why are we here?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Bucky stared at the wall, feeling the anger rise up in him. “Because we brought HYDRA to his door. He did not ask for this.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>If he knew who you are, he would be afraid of you.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Bucky cocked his eyebrow and replied, “He is smart man. He should be afraid.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He’ll never love you.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Bucky flinched. “He shouldn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>But you want him to.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Bucky swallowed around a dry throat. “What I want, I should not have. I could never deserve him.”</p><p> </p><p>He was settling in for an extended night when he heard movement to his left. He rolled away from the doorway just as Steve swung the bat; he was quick but not quite enough and the blunt weapon clipped the back of his head.</p><p> </p><p>He kept moving until he was several feet away from Steve. He used his flesh hand to check the spot Steve had hit but felt no blood. He rubbed it a bit, wincing at the pain.</p><p> </p><p>Steve shouted, “Who the f –” but his voice cut off.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky shot up from the floor as Rollins had Steve from behind, covering his mouth. “Soldat,” Rollins said and Bucky’s skin crawled.</p><p> </p><p>He looked at Steve, trying to impress upon him with just his eyes that Steve was in no danger; that Bucky was there to save him. Those wide green eyes actually calmed a little, though not much.</p><p> </p><p>Standing to his full height, Bucky let the coat drop, revealing his metal arm. Steve’s eyes widened in shock at the sight, but there was something else. <em>Recognition</em>, maybe. Bucky had no time to figure it out as Rollins brandished a gun.</p><p> </p><p>“Come with me,” he said, pointing it at Steve. “Or I’ll kill him.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s face remained motionless, blank, as he pulled a small knife from the back side of his pants with his right hand, using his left as a distraction.</p><p> </p><p>“I believe you,” he said, flatly, and used all of his super-soldier speed to throw that knife right at Rollins’ head.</p><p> </p><p>When the hilt pressed against his forehead, he looked confused for a moment before he collapsed, nearly dragging Steve with him.</p><p> </p><p>Rushing to his side, Bucky checked Steve’s neck and face, his arms, and collarbone, assessing for damage. “You are unharmed?” He asked, taking Steve’s shoulders in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>Nodding, Steve said, “I’m okay. I… you broke into my apartment.” His voice was strange, almost dazed.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky nodded, “Yes, I am very sorry. Your security is terrible. Tomorrow, I will have better door installed, with new locks.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Steve asked, breathily, as if he hadn’t heard a word Bucky said.</p><p> </p><p>“Steve,” he said, taking a deep breath. “You are in shock. I will get you some water.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wh-who are you?” Steve asked, then looked at the arm again. “That arm… I know it. Y-you’re the Winter Soldier. The Avenger.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky nodded, “Yes, but please call me ‘Bucky’.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve’s eyes were hazy and he asked, “Bucky?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Steve?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not feeling well.” Then he collapsed against Bucky’s chest.</p><p> </p><p>“Stark,” Bucky said. “I need… Steve is passed out. Rollins is dead.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a long pause before Stark’s voice came through the comms. “<em>We’re coming to you.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Don’t leave him here.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Steve will come with me to the tower,” Bucky added.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>I don’t know if that’s a good idea</em>,” Banner said.</p><p> </p><p><em>He comes with us</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“He comes back with me.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Steve’s head was pounding but he wasn’t sure why. He was sure he’d gone to bed at a decent time and hadn’t painted all night again.</p><p> </p><p>But his <em>dreams</em>… they were so real, so vivid.</p><p> </p><p>“You… are awake?” A deep, accented voice asked and Steve was up and scooting away from it as fast as he could. “Whoa, wait, you’ll fall!”</p><p> </p><p>A hand reached out and took Steve’s, which he had thrown up to defend himself, and the moment their skin touched, a shockwave ran through Steve’s body. A <em>knowledge</em>. A <em>memory</em>.</p><p> </p><p><em>Soulmate</em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Falling in the snow.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fighting in the dark.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Torture.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Pain.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You…” Steve began, finally looking up to meet grey eyes, a strong jawline, and beautiful lips. “You’re the Winter Soldier.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Was</em>,” he corrected in a breathy, accented voice. “Now I am Bucky.”</p><p> </p><p>“I… why were you in my apartment?” He demanded but Bucky hesitated a moment longer than Steve would accept. “You were there for that guy, right? To protect me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Steve.” Bucky said his name for the first time, though his accented English made it sound like <em>Stiv</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Because I look like <em>him</em>.” Steve’s tone was flat and bordered on angry. “Because I look like your friend.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s eyes filled with hurt and he shook his head. “Nyet,” he said and, if Steve hadn’t had a couple Russian immigrants for students, he might have asked what that meant. “I was there to protect you. I <em>had</em> to. I could not let him harm you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why?” Steve asked, the anger building in his voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Because I <em>had</em> to,” Bucky argued, becoming defensive.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Why</em>?” Steve shouted.</p><p> </p><p>“Because it was <em>my</em> fault they found you!” Bucky yelled back, nearly sending Steve over the side of the bed in surprise.</p><p> </p><p>They stared each other down for a moment, glaring. Steve didn’t know what to think. He was sure the Winter Soldier had only protected him because he looked like the skinny kid from Brooklyn that Bucky Barnes remembered – however much of him was <em>left</em> inside the man.</p><p> </p><p>“Your fault,” he repeated.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Bucky agreed, tersely. “<em>My</em> fault.”</p><p> </p><p>“Because I look like <em>him</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky let his head fall back, sighing. “Yes… and no,” he said, all of the anger drained from his voice. “I saw you… five months ago. I was on the street and I saw you.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve narrowed his eyes. “You followed me.”</p><p> </p><p>Nodding, Bucky said, “Yes.” At least he <em>looked</em> embarrassed. “I thought you were… a trap, a clone or weapon of HYDRA. I went to Stark and Bruce, though, and they… well, I learned you are not clone.”</p><p> </p><p>“Duh,” Steve grumbled and wanted to punch Bucky when he caught the satisfied smirk he gave. “Were those letters from you?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky took a deep breath and said, “The first one, yes.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve wasn’t sure why, but he believed him. “That’s… how they found me, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky nodded. “Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>Then, as Steve watched, he turned his head as if someone else were speaking to him. His face pinched and he shook his head, as if someone were suggesting something he didn’t want to hear.</p><p> </p><p>“I used to dream… horrible dreams,” Steve said all of a sudden, drawing Bucky’s attention back. “Dreams I was… a weapon.” Bucky shifted minutely. “Used to wake up freezing, even in the summer. I… dreamt of killing people. Families… children.”</p><p> </p><p>“You… saw through me.” Bucky’s face took on a look of sheer horror. “How?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve clutched his hand to his chest, trying to get rid of the sensation that sprung from touching Bucky. “I have no idea,” he lied.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky seemed to sense that Steve wasn’t interested in discussing it further and, after a moment, he said, “You must be hungry.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve’s stomach took that moment to grumble, so he nodded, begrudgingly, but stopped. “Wait,” he said, “where are my clothes?” He was wearing a too large t-shirt – not his own – and his boxers.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky looked away. “There was blood on them. Here,” he said, going to his dresser. “These will fit you. Jarvis had them sent up.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jarvis?” Steve asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Sir,” an English voice answered, startling Steve. “I am a highly intelligent A.I. developed by Mr. Stark.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” he replied. “Uh… okay. Thank you… for the clothes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course, sir,” the A.I. said, actually sounding pleased.</p><p> </p><p>Once he dressed, Bucky led him to the kitchen and offered him a seat at the counter. “Do you want coffee?” He asked, fidgeting and avoiding eye contact, and Steve was struck by the thought that the Winter Soldier was <em>nervous</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure,” he said, remembering the way his body had come alive when Bucky touched his hand.</p><p> </p><p>“I have cream and sugar, too,” Bucky added, pouring beans into a silver canister that began growling, loudly, as it ground them up.</p><p> </p><p>As the blades spun, Bucky continued turning his head and Steve thought he could see Bucky’s lips moving, even. He transferred the coffee to a very fancy looking machine and pressed a couple buttons.</p><p> </p><p>While it percolated, Bucky moved about the kitchen, gathering eggs, cheese, and vegetables.</p><p> </p><p>Steve took an opportunity to wander around the open space that was the combined kitchen and living room. Along the walls were shelves stacked with books – many of which focused on topics related to astronomy: <em>A Brief History of Time</em>, <em>Cosmos</em>, <em>Astrophysics for People in a Hurry</em>, and many others.</p><p> </p><p>Steve smiled, imagining that he could show Bucky the telescope at the university; wondered what he would say.</p><p> </p><p>Moving on, he found books on subjects ranging from classical literature to mathematics, but he saw nothing relating to history. Steve wondered if Bucky avoided that topic; he wondered if he should ask about it.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s furniture was all bland – gray and sterile. It didn’t suit him at all, even Steve could see that. Though, it had more than likely come with the apartment. The walls were bare apart from the bookshelves and Steve imagined his art hanging on them – bringing life and color to Bucky’s home.</p><p> </p><p>To his <em>life</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“I made omelets,” Bucky hedged. “I hope you like them. I should have asked.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Steve interrupted. “I do like them.”</p><p> </p><p>He smiled in relief and gestured to the breakfast bar. “Coffee is ready too.”</p><p> </p><p>They ate in companionable silence after that, apart from Steve’s compliments. It felt as if they’d come to terms with something, though it hadn’t been spoken aloud yet. Once the food was eaten, Steve helped Bucky clean up.</p><p> </p><p>“Jarvis,” Bucky said, “can a driver take us to Steve’s apartment?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, sir,” Jarvis answered. “I’ll have a car ready at the front in two minutes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” Bucky replied.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Rogers’ clothes are on their way up at this moment,” Jarvis added.</p><p> </p><p>“We can go anytime,” Bucky offered.</p><p> </p><p>“Bathroom?” Steve asked and Bucky pointed to the hallway.</p><p> </p><p>“First door on the right.”</p><p> </p><p>“You wouldn’t happen to have an extra toothbrush, would you?” Steve asked.</p><p> </p><p>“In the cupboard above the sink,” Bucky replied.</p><p> </p><p>Steve washed up and brushed his teeth before returning to the living room. Bucky was fidgeting, biting his lip, and running his fingers through his hair. He looked up when he heard Steve’s footsteps.</p><p> </p><p>Steve took a seat on one of the bar stools at the counter. “Something on your mind?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky frowned. “I have many things on my mind.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Well this won’t be easy</em>, Steve thought to himself. “Will you tell me one?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky was obviously nervous; his knee bounced and his lips were red and raw. “I… I wonder how you… feel here.”</p><p> </p><p>“How I feel here?” Steve asked.</p><p> </p><p>Nodding, Bucky approached him and sat down as well. “Do you… like it here?”</p><p> </p><p>The question seemed so ordinary but Steve knew it wasn’t. He wondered how many people had seen Bucky’s apartment since he’d returned. He wondered if he’d been able to trust anyone enough to let them walk in. The bland nature of the rooms also indicated that Bucky had never settled in, that he’d never tried to personalize it.</p><p> </p><p>“I think it doesn’t suit you,” Steve finally answered, looking around. “Everything in here, apart from the books and, well,” he pointed behind Bucky, “the espresso machine – it all feels… barren.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky was obviously surprised by Steve’s answer. “I used to… before all of this,” he gestured vaguely to himself, “I think Barnes – I think <em>I</em> loved coffee. But back then, it was just boiled over stove. We – er, <em>I</em> enjoy making it this way much better.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve caught the slips in his speech; the way he referred to <em>Barnes</em> and said <em>we</em>; the way he had appeared to be listening to another voice, maybe even responding.</p><p> </p><p>“Is he still… in there?” He asked, though he could not figure out where the courage to do so had come from.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s eyes were wide, almost afraid. “You…” but he stopped, turning his head and speaking quickly in what Steve assumed was Russian. “Nyet,” he growled, turning away.</p><p> </p><p>“Is it, like, two different people?” Steve asked, more curious than frightened.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s shoulders slumped but, even from behind, Steve saw him nod. “Barnes is <em>loud</em>. He used to be quiet but, since I… returned, he has come back too.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s voice was filled with tremors and diffidence. Steve couldn’t tell if Bucky was afraid of him or how he’d react to such information.</p><p> </p><p>“Does he… talk about me?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky nodded again, slower this time. “He reminds me of how you are not like the Steve he knew. He says you are not him. He does not want… does not want to see you. You make him sad. Remind him of what he lost.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve was filled with an empathy that he couldn’t explain, as well as a strong need to comfort Bucky. Without knowing why, he stood and rounded the counter, catching the Soldier’s wary eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“I think,” Steve began, nervously, “I think I’ve dreamt of you my whole life.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s defenses crumbled and Steve saw his fear, his loneliness, and his <em>desperation</em> as plain as day. He said, “I – I have dreams of you but I – I thought it was him.” He swallowed hard and went on. “I felt nothing until I saw you. I was numb, like my body was still frozen in that tank.”</p><p> </p><p>Stepping closer, Steve asked, “What do you feel now?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky swallowed. “I want to… to hold you and protect you. I want to be your armor. I – I <em>need</em> to keep you safe… and close. I never intended for you to see me. I planned to leave you be and kill any HYDRA that came for you. I would not stop until they were all dead or in custody. I would have left you alone.” His voice was stronger as he spoke, determined, yet sad. “I know now that would have… deprived us both. You… you felt that too, in there.” He gestured behind Steve, toward the bedroom, and stepped closer. “You have waited for me as I have waited for you.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve was nodding before he even knew what was happening and he stepped closer, reaching out for Bucky’s left hand. He saw the hesitation on Bucky’s face, <em>felt</em> his anxiety, and Steve realized how connected they truly were.</p><p> </p><p>He remembered reading about this connection in that pamphlet years ago; he remembered the way it described the attachment.</p><p> </p><p>“Can you feel me?” Steve asked, taking another step. “What I’m feeling?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky nodded. “I believe so. You are not afraid of me.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve shook his head. “No, I’m not.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s brows furrowed and he breathed, “Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because I’ve known you my whole life,” he answered, easily. “You’ve been with me longer than anyone.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky sighed, reaching his left hand out to wrap around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace. “You were always with me too,” he said. “I was not strong enough to escape HYDRA before. Barnes says we have tried more than once but were unable to. I believe that you helped bring me back.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve only hesitated for a moment before he wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist, pressing his face to his broad chest. Carefully, Bucky held Steve, though the touch was loose, as if he worried Steve might run away at any moment. Steve couldn’t explain the feelings rolling through him – <em>them</em>. He felt safe and calm, even though Bucky was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger. He felt Bucky’s longing and happiness being there with Steve; the serenity that Bucky felt while holding him. It was so much, so fast, and Steve felt himself begin to panic.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky felt it too and dropped his arms until his hands settled on Steve’s shoulders. Then he pressed his forehead to Steve’s and whispered words in a language Steve didn’t understand. Over and over, he murmured words in a soft tone.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you saying?” Steve asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Easy, everything is okay. Trust me. I will never leave you.”</p><p> </p><p>The soothing tone and comforting words washed over Steve and he took a deep breath. “Jarvis,” he said, startling Bucky. “I don’t think we need the car right now.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s face broke out in a smile. “You are sure?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve nodded. “Yeah, I… would you like to watch a movie?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I – I’d like that very much.”</p><p> </p><p>They sat on the couch and Steve browsed the impressive list of digital films that Bucky owned – or were they Stark’s? He settled on <em>James Bond: From Russia With Love</em> and sat back on the couch. There were a few feet separating them from one another and it bothered Steve, but he wouldn’t scoot over.</p><p> </p><p>At least, that was what he told himself until the movie ended and he laid his head on Bucky’s lap.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky gasped and, for a long moment, Steve worried that he’d overstepped. But then, Bucky’s right hand began carding through Steve’s hair, while his left settled on Steve’s waist.</p><p> </p><p>“Is it okay if we watch another <em>Bond</em> movie?” Steve asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Anything you want,” Bucky breathed. “I enjoy <em>On Her Majesty’s Secret Service</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve smiled and found that title, then played it. The next time he even considered checking the time, it was after three and his stomach was growling. Bucky heard it and chuckled. He scooted out from beneath Steve’s head, using both of his hands to support it until he was able to stand up.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll make a late lunch,” he said and Steve nodded.</p><p> </p><p>When Bucky walked away, Steve couldn’t help but notice how tight his jeans were. They hugged his body like a glove and Steve had to admit, he liked the view.</p><p> </p><p>But then the lights went out and Jarvis said, “Sirs, someone has broken past my security and is in the stairwell. They will be to your floor in two minutes.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Steve,” Bucky began, his voice tense and angry. “They have come for me but they will kill you if they can.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve’s face changed from fearful to resolute. “What do you need me to do?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s immediate request was that Steve hide, or run far away. He pulled a knife from the back of his pants and held it out. “Take this,” he said. “Get in the bedroom and stay hidden.”</p><p> </p><p>“You want me to <em>hide</em>?” He growled.</p><p> </p><p><em>It </em>is<em> him</em>, Barnes whispered.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky frowned. “I will not let them <em>touch</em> you. I will kill all of them, Steve. I do not want you to… see that. Please, you need a safe position to defend yourself if they… if I fail.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve blinked and Bucky felt a deep sadness come through their connection. “You mean… if you die,” Steve said.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky nodded his head once and ushered Steve toward the hallway. “Please, Steve,” he begged, “please go.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve glared at him. “No.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Steve</em>,” he hissed through clenched teeth but he could feel Steve’s rage, his sheer determination.</p><p> </p><p><em>Steve</em>, Barnes said in exasperated awe.</p><p> </p><p>“I won’t let them get you,” Steve growled.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky was about the argue more, to lift Steve up and shove him into the bedroom, when a metallic click caught his attention. He jumped ahead of Steve, using his metal arm as a shield against the barrage of bullets fired at them. One got him in the side and he released a choked-out sound but didn’t drop his guard.</p><p> </p><p>For the first time since he’d returned, he found that Barnes’ and his thoughts were as one – <em>Protect Steve</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He yanked Steve with him, rushing down the hall into the first bedroom, and slammed the door. “Jarvis, engage privacy mode,” he ordered and he heard the locks engage before he dropped to the floor with his back to the wall. He pressed his hand over the wound. “And get Tony and Natasha here,” he said, wincing at the pain.</p><p> </p><p>“They were informed when the security breach was discovered, sir,” the AI answered. “Mr. Stark is requesting that you activate your earpiece.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky grumbled as he did so. “Stark,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>We’re coming to you,</em>” Tony replied. “<em>How’s the kid</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“He is unharmed,” Bucky said after giving Steve an assessing look.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Your place is sealed up and they’ve got guys out here</em>,” Natasha said. “<em>Hang tight</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“What is that?” Steve asked, staring down at Bucky. “You were shot,” he croaked, kneeling at Bucky’s side. “Oh, <em>God</em>, you got <em>shot</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>You got </em>shot?” Natasha shouted through the earpiece. “<em>Vital information, James</em>!”</p><p> </p><p>“It went right through,” he argued, meaning it for both of them. “I heal fast.”</p><p> </p><p>“That doesn’t mean you don’t feel pain, Bucky,” Steve argued, pushing Bucky’s hand away and pressing his own down.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky hissed, fighting the instinct to jerk away. <em>He is not Hydra. He is safe for us</em>, Bucky-Barnes-Soldier said all at once. They could both hear the sounds of fighting coming from outside the apartment, including the screams of men as Natasha electrocuted them.</p><p> </p><p>“Soldier!” A familiar voice shouted and Bucky bared his teeth in rage.</p><p> </p><p>“Rumlow,” he growled, low and violent.</p><p> </p><p>“You still alive in there?” He was going for nonchalant but his anxiety came across clearly.</p><p> </p><p>“Who is he?” Steve whispered, concern in his voice.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky shook his head, trying to fight off the memories that flooded his mind. “He is Hydra.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve blinked. “He… he tortured you.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky met Steve’s eyes, feeling the intensity of his rage pouring through their connection. He touched Steve’s hands where they were still pressed to his wound. “Steve –”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll kill him,” Steve snarled. “I’ll kill him if he tries to touch you.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky gulped. He could <em>feel</em> that Steve was telling the truth and, if he could feel that, he wondered if Steve was receiving the fear Bucky couldn’t ignore. As the Soldier, he’d never shown how terrified he was. At the time, he hadn’t been able to remember <em>why</em> he was so afraid; all he knew was that the sight of those men made him tremble. That terror must have been driven too deep for them to burn out.</p><p> </p><p>“I fuckin’ owe you for Rollins,” Rumlow called as they began ramming the door, trying to break through.</p><p> </p><p>He pushed Steve’s hands away. “The bleeding has stopped,” he whispered. “Get away from the door.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not letting you go out there alone,” Steve hissed.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky smiled at him as he pushed himself to his feet. “I won’t be.” He walked around Steve to the closet and opened it, fishing out a duffle bag. He unzipped it and pulled out a Sig Sauer and then he located the Beretta; he checked the magazines, ensuring they were fully loaded before he tucked one in the back of his pants. “You’ll be with me,” he added, smiling at Steve.</p><p> </p><p>The banging had gotten louder and Bucky was sure he could hear Stark and Natasha trying to get through the front door. He cocked the Sig and met Steve’s eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“They will not kill me,” he assured. “But they will gladly kill <em>you</em>. I will not allow that. That means, though, that you will see more men die because of me.” He put his free hand on Steve’s shoulder and leaned down to hold eye contact. “I will ask you to stay here if you wish not to see it.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve gulped and nodded. “I –” he began but stopped, taking Bucky’s face in his hands and pulling him into a kiss.</p><p> </p><p>A <em>kiss</em>. Steve <em>kissed</em> him.</p><p> </p><p>It was soft and tentative, but Bucky had never felt anything so wonderful. Deep in his memories, he knew that Barnes had experienced this. There were flashes of beautiful women wearing brightly colored lipstick, dancing and calling to him. Barnes had had many lovers in his short life before the fall but nothing compared to this.</p><p> </p><p>When Steve pulled back, Bucky’s eyes blinked open. “Thank you,” he whispered.</p><p> </p><p>Steve nodded his head and Bucky turned, planted his feet, and <em>ran</em> at the bedroom door. He used his left arm to protect his body and head when he rammed it, full force. It flew off the hinges and he knew he’d hit at least one of the intruders with it. He landed, heavy and loud, on the floor and aimed his gun, firing off shots at the Hydra men he could see.</p><p> </p><p>They all wore their black uniforms, the ones SHIELD supplied, which included Kevlar vests. For this reason, he pointed his gun at their heads. Before they could respond, three were down, leaving four more, including Rumlow.</p><p> </p><p>They rushed at Bucky, trying to grab the gun or his arm, but he held it in his left hand and <em>no one</em> could take it from him. They <em>did</em>, however, begin to beat him. On the ground as he was, they kicked at him and Rumlow focused his hits on Bucky’s wounded side.</p><p> </p><p>He bit back the scream that nearly escaped but the pain distracted him enough that two of them were able to yank him to his knees. Rumlow stood over him and gripped his long hair, twisting his head back before landing several quick jabs to Bucky’s face.</p><p> </p><p>Rumlow then pulled out a knife and snarled, “This is for Rollins.”</p><p> </p><p>Before he stabbed down into Bucky’s chest or shoulder or neck, however, he grunted and coughed. Bucky blinked when the knife dropped from Rumlow’s hand before he, himself, fell to his knees.</p><p> </p><p>There, standing behind Rumlow, was Steve. His eyes were wide, staring at his bloody hand in <em>horror</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky stood up, easily shrugging off the men who tried to grab him. He turned, quickly, and shot two of them, then head-butted the third, sending him backward. Bucky grabbed Steve and pulled him to the kitchen sink; he turned the water on and made sure it was warm before he put Steve’s hand beneath the flow.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s alright,” he whispered, “you’re alright. I’ve got you. See?” He said, bringing Steve’s hand up to show him. “It’s gone. All gone.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve looked at him, then, and said, “I can… still feel it.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky nodded and maneuvered Steve’s hand under the spray again. “I know,” he whispered. “And I won’t thank you for that,” he assured him. “But I <em>do</em> want you to know that you saved my life, Steve.”</p><p> </p><p>Releasing a shaky breath, Steve met Bucky’s eyes. “You saved mine.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky nodded. “I will let nothing happen to you.”</p><p> </p><p>The sound of someone clearing his throat brought them both back to reality and they turned, finding Tony and Natasha there. She had a small grin on her face as she looked between Bucky and Steve, though Bucky had no idea what she was seeing.</p><p> </p><p>Tony’s mask opened. “Robo-Cop,” he said by way of greeting.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky inclined his head in response and looked at Natasha. “The men outside?”</p><p> </p><p>“Down,” she answered. “Looks like you did alright in here.”</p><p> </p><p>For reasons Bucky couldn’t identify, he stepped ahead of Steve. “How did they get through Jarvis’ security?”</p><p> </p><p>Tony cocked an eyebrow. “That’s something I’d very much like to know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sir,” Jarvis chimed in, “I discovered their entry point.”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, J,” he replied and his headpiece closed. “Nat, you coming?”</p><p> </p><p>“To your lab? Of course,” she answered, heading toward the doorway.</p><p> </p><p>Tony glanced at the guest room door and then turned to look at the front entrance. “J, get a crew up here to get this repaired today.”</p><p> </p><p>“They are already en route, sir.”</p><p> </p><p>“Barnes, we’ll figure this out,” Tony added before turning to leave as well. “Until then, I think you two should move to a different floor.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sirs, the eightieth floor is prepared for you,” Jarvis said. “Please go there and your things will be brought to you.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky blinked then turned to Steve. “Is that alright?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve looked pale but he nodded his head. “O-okay.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Steve woke up in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar bed, alone. This was the second time he’d experienced this in just as many days and, he had to admit, he was not a fan. Sitting up, he groaned at the headache that was coming on.</p><p> </p><p>Since Steve had kissed Bucky, they hadn’t initiated any other physical contact but he could <em>feel</em> Bucky all the time. It was an odd sensation, though not unwelcome.</p><p> </p><p>The pamphlet had made it seem as though the connection would sever all autonomy but Steve still felt like himself. His mind was his own, as were his feelings. He could distinctly separate his emotions from Bucky’s. When Bucky was happy, even though his face remained neutral, Steve felt a warmth inside him.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s fear had been the most overpowering – it was almost a vibration in Steve’s head and, as he became more and more scared, the buzzing increased. It was so loud, that Steve hadn’t even realized he was directly behind Rumlow until he was already there. Then, Rumlow had raised his knife and the strangest thing happened – the vibrations stopped.</p><p> </p><p>Steve’s mind had been totally clear when he’d killed him.</p><p> </p><p>“Steve?” An accented voice called and Steve looked up. Bucky was there, standing in the doorway with a tray in his arms. “I made you food,” he explained, quietly.</p><p> </p><p>Even in the low light, Steve could see the nervousness on Bucky’s face, the trepidation that Steve would – what? Run away? Be angry at him?</p><p> </p><p>Or… that Steve would <em>fear</em> him.</p><p> </p><p><em>Oh</em>, he thought. “I could use some food,” Steve answered, trying to smile reassuringly.</p><p> </p><p>As Bucky approached, Steve scooted up so that his back pressed against the headboard. “I… I was not sure what you might like so I…” he trailed off as he set the tray down.</p><p> </p><p>It had three plates on it, each heaped full of different foods – pancakes, eggs, bacon, fruit, and – “Is that chocolate cake?” Steve asked, chuckling.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky nodded, clearly still worried. “Sometimes when I am… unwell, I need sugar. It helps.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve couldn’t help but frown at that. Bucky’d been through so many horrors, so much pain; he hadn’t suggested he was receiving any sort of treatment following his decades of torture.  Perhaps, in the years since he’d been rescued, all he had learned was that sweet foods helped.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll take some cake,” Steve offered, drawing a smile out of Bucky. “And I’ll probably eat those pancakes, too.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can make more if you… if you’d like.” Bucky handed him the plate and a fork.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Steve answered, “but I could use some coffee.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky nearly leapt off the bed and rushed out of the room. Steve chuckled as he heard Bucky moving around in the kitchen, clinking glasses. When he finally returned, Steve was half-way through the cake and knew he had frosting on his face.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky handed him a black mug. “I have cream and sugar, too.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, this is perfect,” Steve replied, taking a drink.</p><p> </p><p>“I remembered you took your coffee black yesterday,” Bucky recalled and began eating the eggs and bacon.</p><p> </p><p>When Steve stole a piece off of his plate, Bucky smiled warmly. It felt as though they had been eating meals together forever.</p><p> </p><p>And, maybe, in some ways, <em>they had</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you… want to go home? To your apartment?” Bucky asked suddenly.</p><p> </p><p>Steve looked up. “What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you want to leave?” He tried to appear indifferent, taking too large of a drink of coffee.</p><p> </p><p>Steve frowned. “Why would I want to leave?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky swallowed. “Hydra won’t –”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t care about Hydra,” Steve interrupted, righteous fury welling up within in. “I care about what <em>you</em> want. Do <em>you</em> want me to leave?”</p><p> </p><p>“No!” Bucky shouted, shocking both Steve and, it seemed, himself. “N-no, I don’t. But… you don’t know me. I am offering for you to… to be somewhere you feel safe.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve’s anger dissipated as quickly as it had come on and he sighed. “You’re right that we don’t know each other very well but… I <em>feel</em> like I know you. I feel safe with <em>you</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky smiled. “Good, that’s – that’s good, Steve.”</p><p> </p><p>After another bite of cake, Steve finally said, “I should… I should probably go home. Today.”</p><p> </p><p>Nodding, Bucky replied, “I would like to go with you. If I may.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Steve agreed, “I’d like that.”</p><p> </p><p>They ate in silence after that. It felt as if they’d come to terms with something, though it hadn’t been spoken aloud yet. Once the food was eaten, Steve got out of bed, lifting his plate and mug with him.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll do the washing up,” he stated as he walked out of the room. “Since you cooked.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, Steve,” Bucky tried to argue, but Steve had already started filling the sink. “I will – hey!”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, hush,” Steve interrupted. “You can dry them if you’re hellbent on it.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky grumbled as he stepped up alongside Steve, but through their connection, it was clear he was happy, and maybe a little nervous. Steve felt the same, really.</p><p> </p><p>Later, Bucky accompanied Steve to his apartment, which had been cleaned and the body removed. Regardless, Bucky strode right in and checked each room from top to bottom and Steve imagined he was looking for listening devices or cameras.</p><p> </p><p>A thought occurred to Steve. “You know,” he began, wringing his hands as he spoke, “I should get your number. In case something happens.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s lips twitched, as if he were trying not to smile and Steve’s heart raced a little bit. “That may be a good idea,” he replied and Steve felt the warmth travel through their connection. “You never know when something might come up.”</p><p> </p><p>There was something about Bucky’s accent that struck Steve as extremely attractive and it occurred to him all at once. In every way, Steve realized, he found Bucky appealing. His shy, yet bright smile, his grey eyes, the richness of his voice, and the quiet strength he possessed.</p><p> </p><p>He was at least five inches taller than Steve and about twice as wide, but he didn’t radiate <em>power</em> the way some men did. Even when he had fought their attackers, Bucky hadn’t scared Steve.</p><p> </p><p>In fact, he had rushed to Steve’s side and gently washed his hands clean of blood, soothing him as he did.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky moved through the world as if he might break it; he touched everything carefully and Steve was sure he did it unconsciously. Steve didn’t want to be treated like a doll; he was not something fragile and weak. However, he had to admit, there was something to be said for a man with the capacity for so much brutality, yet he could touch Steve so tenderly.</p><p> </p><p>For the first time since they had met, Steve’s vision of Bucky turned… heated.</p><p> </p><p>But he was not ready for that yet.</p><p> </p><p>“Um,” he began, “here, this is my number.” He quickly jotted it down on a piece of sketch paper he had lying on the floor, then tore it off.</p><p> </p><p>When he turned to hand it to Bucky, he could tell that his sudden unease had translated and Bucky stepped backward. “Yes, I will text you mine on the way back to the tower.” He grabbed the slip as he stepped around Steve toward the door. “Goodbye, Steve.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bye, Buck.” Steve waved but Bucky didn’t turn around to see it.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Bucky took several deep breaths once he slipped back into the car. It wasn’t easy for him to leave, especially after what had occurred over the last two days, but he knew that Steve needed time. If he was being honest with himself, he could use some as well.</p><p> </p><p>It was a foreign feeling at first – a heat inside him, a clenching, a <em>need</em>. It was as if something had awoken within him and it was hungry after so long asleep. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d <em>wanted</em> anything or anyone. Perhaps it had been while Steve – Barnes’ Steve – was alive.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky had been so sure that he’d successfully concealed his emotions, his <em>desire</em> from Steve. He had used every trick he’d ever learned to camouflage his thoughts and feelings.</p><p> </p><p>But nothing could be concealed through their bond.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The first time they went on a date, Bucky maintained almost a foot between them. Steve knew Bucky was worried about him, that he felt unsafe, so he merely smiled and let it go.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The first time they held hands, Steve took the metal one and pressed a kiss to the back of it. That night, Bucky couldn’t sleep. He lay awake, weeping, and staring at the hand that had caused so much pain.</p><p> </p><p>For the first time in seventy years, though, he could no longer see the blood on it.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The second time they kissed, Bucky held the back of Steve’s head while Steve gripped his shoulders. He groaned at the feeling of Bucky’s tongue gently tracing his lips. When they separated, they didn’t speak, except to say, “Goodnight.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Steve could hardly keep himself from calling Bucky immediately. He did wait, though not as long as he would have waited with anyone else.</p><p> </p><p>“Bucky?” He asked when the call connected.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Is something wrong, Steve</em>?” Bucky sounded anxious, as if he feared for Steve’s safety.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing, I…” Steve trailed off; he was afraid but… not of this. “Could I cook you dinner? Tomorrow?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky was silent for a moment but Steve stayed strong. Finally, Bucky breathed, “<em>You want to</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Steve answered, “I do.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>One month later, Steve finally brought Bucky to the observatory at CUNY, grinning at Bucky’s excited face. The telescope was connected to a projector that reflected the universe onto the black ceiling. Bucky remarked, “It’s like we’re up there, Steve.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you like it?” He asked and Bucky nodded his head.</p><p> </p><p>“We – Barnes –” he stopped, taking a deep breath. “<em>I</em> used to stare at night sky.” Steve inhaled shakily, noting the decisive tone that Bucky had taken on. “I never could have dreamed I would see it this way. Telescopes were not so powerful then. There were still those who believed there were canals on Mars.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve laughed and reached over, taking Bucky’s hand in his. “I can’t show you that, but what would you like to see?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky stared at their joined hands for a long moment, eyes unfocused. Steve had become comfortable with Bucky’s tendency to stay silent for long periods as he collected his thoughts. Steve could tell that Bucky was still unused to being touched with kindness but it only strengthened his resolve to continue.</p><p> </p><p>Swallowing, Bucky whispered, “I want to see everything you want to show me.”</p><p> </p><p>They stayed at the observatory all night, staring at the planets and talking about the constellations. When the sun began to rise, they returned to Bucky’s apartment and fell asleep together, their arms and legs intertwined.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Stark?” Bucky asked as the man approached him in the hall.</p><p> </p><p>“We have a problem,” he announced.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s eyes widened. “Is it about Steve?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Stark answered. “Banner’s been contacted by a woman – Dr. Cho. It turns out that Hydra may not have <em>only</em> been after you.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“I have to be away for a while,” Bucky said into the phone, holding his head in his flesh hand. They hadn’t had to go through this yet and he couldn’t help but worry how Steve would respond.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>O-okay</em>,” he answered. “<em>For a mission</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Bucky replied. “I hope it will take only a few days.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Be safe</em>.” Steve hesitated before adding, “<em>Come… come back to me</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky was silent for a long moment, basking in the warmth of those words. It had been many, many years since someone had worried for him… had cared if he came home. In a shaky voice, he whispered, “I swear<em>.</em>”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Steve stared in horror at the television. The news correspondent was practically shouting into her microphone as the Avengers fought an army of robots. Each time the camera flashed to Bucky, Steve’s chest constricted; he’d long since begun to shake but it was incidental.</p><p> </p><p>With every robot that Bucky destroyed, Steve prayed that the worst was over.</p><p> </p><p>When the bomb went off and the building Bucky was in began to collapse, Steve stopped breathing.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Get out of my way!” Through the haze, Bucky could hear Steve screaming at the nurses. “Bucky! I have to see him!”</p><p> </p><p>“Let him… through,” Bucky slurred and the room went silent for a moment before he felt Steve’s gentle hands on his face. His eyes must have been swollen shut because he couldn’t <em>see</em> Steve but he knew it was him.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, my God,” Steve whispered. “Is he – is he going to be okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Be… fine,” Bucky breathed before the doctor could respond. “Heal fast.”</p><p> </p><p>“A <em>building</em> dropped on you!” Steve exclaimed.</p><p> </p><p>“Building… not that… big.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not that –!” Steve cut himself off and Bucky heard him sniffle then he began to sob. “You could have died.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky lifted his metal arm and waited for Steve to take his hand. He tried to smile but it felt strange. “Didn’t.” He swallowed around a tight throat. “Swore.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve sobbed again and gasped out, “I love you.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky wanted to do more than respond – he wanted to scream his love from the roof of Stark Tower. However, all he could manage before passing out was, “Love… you too.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Steve was waiting in Bucky’s apartment the day he was released from the infirmary. The smile that broke out on his face when he saw Steve made all of Steve’s worries melt away. Bucky’s leg was still in a cast beneath his sweatpants and he walked with crutches, but that didn’t stop Steve. He rushed over and stood on his tiptoes to pull Bucky into a deep kiss.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky responded in kind, wrapping both arms around Steve’s waist and leading him closer. Even when both of Bucky’s crutches clattered to the floor, they didn’t stop. Somehow, they made their way to the couch without incident and Steve settled himself on Bucky’s lap, breathing hotly into the kiss. He ran his hands over Bucky’s chest and over his shoulders while Bucky dug his fingers in Steve’s hair.</p><p> </p><p>“Steve,” Bucky rasped, “we… should we slow down?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve shook his head. “Are you okay with this?”</p><p> </p><p>Nodding, Bucky said, “Yes. Are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“More than okay,” Steve affirmed before grinding his hips against Bucky’s, relishing in the shocked moan he released. “Can I take your shirt off?” Bucky hesitated for a moment before nodding his head. “Are you sure?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky nodded again but said, “I worry you will… not like what you find.”</p><p> </p><p>Frowning, Steve asked, “What?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky swallowed before reaching down and grabbing the hem of his shirt, pulling it off. Steve’s eyes were drawn to the source of Bucky’s insecurity almost immediately – the scarring along his left arm. The skin looked as though it had been burned many times, even… ripped. It seemed that the serum hadn’t been able to keep it from marring the flesh so much, no matter how fast it had healed it.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re right,” Steve breathed, gently tracing the edge of the metal arm with his fingertips. Bucky inhaled sharply but Steve went on, “I don’t like it… but only because of how much pain it’s caused you.”</p><p> </p><p>When he met Bucky’s eyes, Steve found tears there. “I love you,” Bucky whispered, sitting up and pulling Steve into a kiss. “I love you, Steve.”</p><p> </p><p>“I love you,” Steve said, gripping Bucky’s long hair. “Will you undress me?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky nodded before both of his hands slipped under Steve’s shirt, up his back, and over his shoulders. “You feel so warm,” Bucky murmured and Steve moaned.</p><p> </p><p>“Please,” he whispered, “please, take it off.”</p><p>Bucky didn’t hesitate again and, instead, drug the article over Steve’s head, tossing it aside. Then, his mouth descended on Steve’s skin, kissing along his collar bone and down his chest. Steve leaned back to give Bucky more space to explore, releasing small, breathy sounds as he did.</p><p> </p><p>In a move so bold he shocked himself, Steve grabbed both of Bucky’s wrists and pushed them down toward his lower back, then over his ass. Bucky moaned before taking Steve’s left nipple between his teeth and grinding Steve’s body down on his own.</p><p> </p><p>Steve was moaning constantly, almost desperate in his desire. “Bucky, I want – I – could we –?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Bucky answered, “anything.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve leapt off of him and ran back toward the door to grab Bucky’s crutches. Once he had them, he returned to the couch and pressed them into Bucky’s hands. “Bedroom,” he whispered and Bucky nodded, fighting back a smirk as he stood up.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky climbed on the bed first, turning to lie on his back. Steve swallowed before he yanked his jeans down his legs and stepped out of them. Bucky’s mouth fell open at the sight but he quickly followed suit, shedding his sweatpants as quickly as he could with the cast in the way. Unlike Steve, though, he didn’t have anything on beneath them.</p><p> </p><p>Steve bit his lip as he stared openly at Bucky’s naked body. He was all muscle, though Steve had long since been sure of that fact. It was different, however, to <em>see </em>it.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s tone was mirthful as he asked, “Are you going to join me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, sorry,” Steve groused but his tone couldn’t keep Bucky from smirking.</p><p> </p><p>“It feels good to… know you want me.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve smiled at him. “I do.” He took a moment before he slipped the boxers off of his legs as well and crawled on the bed. “Do you have… lube?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky nodded and pointed to the nightstand. “In the drawer.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve opened it and easily found the bottle before turning back. “I can do this part if you want.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky snatched the bottle from Steve’s hand and shook his head. “I will. I want to. Please.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve almost moaned at the very idea of it. “How should I –?”</p><p> </p><p>“On me,” Bucky interrupted. “Come here.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve straddled Bucky’s hips, gasping as their cocks slid together. Bucky hummed as he drizzled lube over his fingers before taking Steve’s dick in his hand and rubbing it.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah!” Steve choked out, closing his eyes and pitching forward, landing hard on Bucky’s chest. “C-come on, I – shit, please, I – I’ve never wanted anyone so badly, please! D-don’t make me wait.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky shivered beneath him and nodded his head. “Lift up for me, just a little.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve complied and moaned as Bucky’s fingers traced around his opening. When one slick finger finally pressed inside, Steve dug his fingers into Bucky’s firm chest and rocked back on his hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Slow,” Bucky rasped and Steve shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>“No, you go faster.”</p><p> </p><p>After a moment of hesitation, Bucky did as he was told, sliding his finger in and out of Steve’s body at a mildly quicker pace. Steve’s moans spurred him on and, after a few moments, he added a second finger. Without prompting, Steve grabbed the lube and squeezed some onto his palm before rubbing it over Bucky’s dick, causing him to hiss.</p><p> </p><p>“St-Steve, oh <em>God</em>.” He bucked up into Steve’s grip as Steve rocked down onto his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>“One more,” Steve encouraged. “One more, please.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky nodded and slowly pressed a third finger inside him before batting Steve’s hand away. “Tell me when you’re ready.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve threw his head back as he picked up his pace. Bucky crooked his fingers and Steve cried out. “Right there, please!”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky was panting as he watched Steve chase his pleasure. He feared he might come from just the sight of it but then Steve pushed his hand away and took hold of Bucky’s cock. “Steve,” Bucky gasped as he sank down onto him, enveloping his dick in tight, wet heat. “Oh, God, you feel so good.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve nodded his head; his brows were furrowed and his mouth was slack as he waited to allow his body time to adjust. Bucky gripped his pillow and focused on his own breathing to keep from thrusting his hips.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t have to wait long, though, as Steve began to move above him, rocking and grinding. Bucky choked out Steve’s name and gripped his hips, though not to control him. He held on for dear life as Steve moaned and cried out.</p><p> </p><p>“So good,” he gasped, digging his nails into Bucky’s skin. “It’s so good.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Bucky panted, running his hands along Steve’s sweat-slicked skin.</p><p> </p><p>Steve leaned back, though made sure not to put pressure on Bucky’s injured leg. If it could be this good while he was in a cast, Steve moaned at the idea of how good it would be when he was healed.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s hips rolled in time with Steve’s, though his range of motion was somewhat limited. He made up for it by running his hands over Steve’s belly, up his ribs, along his shoulders, then back down. He took Steve’s dick in his flesh hand and began stroking it, groaning as Steve tightened up around him.</p><p> </p><p>“Buck,” Steve hissed out, “gonna make me come.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky growled at that and moved his hand faster. Steve gripped Bucky’s metal forearm to steady himself as he snapped his hips, increasing his own pace.</p><p> </p><p>“Steve,” Bucky moaned, watching as Steve’s eyes closed and his mouth dropped open just as he came, shooting over Bucky’s abdomen with a harsh cry. “Oh, fuck, Steve.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky gripped Steve’s hips with both hands and moved him, reveling in the way he tightened up around him.</p><p> </p><p>“So close,” he gasped and Steve moaned.</p><p> </p><p>“Come inside me.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky gasped and came, snapping his hips up as he pushed Steve’s body down. He growled and his upper body curled off the bed, almost in a sitting position with the force of his own orgasm. With it, he released a string of words in a number of languages in no particular order and Steve chuckled above him.</p><p> </p><p>“I have no idea what any of that meant,” he whispered and Bucky smiled, dropping back to the bed in a sweaty, panting mess.</p><p> </p><p>“I… don’t either.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve hummed and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s lips. “How do you shower… with that thing?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky laughed. “They… gave me bag to… wear.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll get it for you.” Steve made to move but Bucky gripped his hips again.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait,” he whispered, “just stay a little longer.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve smiled and rested against Bucky’s chest. “Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Eventually they did get out of bed and shower – awkwardly, given Bucky’s large cast. Afterward, Steve ordered takeout for them and they settled on the couch to watch a movie together. The food arrived and they moved to the table to eat it.</p><p> </p><p>As Bucky dished it up, Steve asked, “Did they ever figure out how Jarvis got hacked?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky sighed. “Stark thinks it was someone from SHIELD.”</p><p> </p><p>“Does it still even exist?”</p><p> </p><p>With a shrug, Bucky answered, “There is not really a way to completely destroy entire system.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve bit his lip. “So… they could still be after you.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky met his gaze and reached across the table to touch his hand. “I will not let them touch you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not worried about me,” Steve argued.</p><p> </p><p>“I am,” Bucky countered then frowned at his plate. “Before I went away on mission, Stark told me…”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Steve demanded. “Told you what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hydra followed you for more than one reason.” Bucky took a deep breath. “Your doctor… Dr. Cho, yes?” Steve blanched and Bucky continued, “She was blackmailed. They demanded records – your records.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because they know what we are.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve released a shaky breath, remembering the warnings Dr. Cho had given him so long ago. “They know we’re… soulmates.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky cocked his head. “Is that what it is called? This… connection?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve nodded. “Dr. Cho… she told me. She said that it would be dangerous if people knew.” He glared down at the table. “I trusted her.”</p><p> </p><p>“She did not want to tell them,” Bucky said. “They made threats against her children.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve’s head snapped up. “Are they okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“They came to no harm. Natasha and Barton got to them first.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve sighed in relief. “Thank God.” Bucky set a plate in front of him and Steve grabbed his fork. “What will happen now?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky took a large bite of his food as he thought over his answer. “Hydra will not stop unless they are <em>made</em> to stop.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that what you intend to do?” Steve asked with furrowed brows. “Stop them, whatever it takes?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky looked away. “You… can go back to your apartment whenever you wish.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve frowned. “Is that what you want?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky shook his head. “I would have you stay here.”</p><p> </p><p>“To protect me?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Bucky affirmed. “Yes, it is safer here but… I… you make me feel… good. Like… normal person.” He reached over and touched Steve’s hand again. “I do not know what this life will bring to us.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve gripped Bucky’s fingers and smiled at the idea. Bucky was talking about <em>their</em> life – a life <em>together</em>. “No one knows,” Steve whispered. “But I… I want to find out.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky nibbled his bottom lip before asking, “So you will stay?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve nodded. “I’ll stay.”</p><p> </p><p>“With me?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve breathed in, smiling confidently across the table. “With you.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fin</em>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought? &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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